Abandoned
by Nightscrawlearth
Summary: She couldn’t live with it - think of him as an it, already dead. She couldn’t live with it, not looking like it did, like… like him. AU. Victor Creed for Scrawlerearth. By Scumfish.
1. Chapter 1

The figure hurried out of the alleyway, pulling her coat tighter around herself and sniffling.

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, this isn't your fault boy it isn't I just…"

She leant against the wall, sobbing to herself and trying to keep it quiet. She wouldn't look back in, if she looked she wouldn't be able to walk away. She couldn't live with….with it, think of him as an _it_, already dead. She couldn't live with it, not looking like it did, like….like _him._

"Please, when you get t-to Heaven tell Him I….oh God, God forgive me please!!"

As the sound of running footsteps and sobbing disappeared into the night, there was a low rumble of thunder and the first _pat_ of raindrops.

And a newborn baby's thin wail rose to meet it.

-

Victoria pulled the man down the road. "Y' coulda picked a better night for this."

The man held the umbrella, smirking at the young prostitute. "Is there ever a good night for this? Now, I believe it was….?"

Victoria rolled her eyes, ducking down an alleyway and pushing the man against the wall. "You're not payin' me for talk." She jerked his fly down with less then a polite grip, hand dipping down and dragging a gasp out of the guy. Well dressed, snappy suit, she could and would make a mint off this one. "And I don' expect any intelligent conversation out of you anyway."

The man was about to protest when she slid to his knees in front of him, and Victoria mentally chuckled as she dipped a hand inside his pocket, pulling out his pay-packet she'd noticed earlier in their 'negotiations'. As her mouth did the hard work, the man struggling to hold the umbrella above them in the storm, she neatly lifted half the money before slipping the envelope back in. Sucker.

Victoria shifted, trying to keep her bare legs off the pavement. As her knee came down unexpectedly on something soft, there was a pathetic-sounding faint wail that made her back off. "Wha'….?"

"Wh-why'd ya stop….?"

"Shuttup."

That wail brought tears to her eyes unexpectedly – _No, Victoria, don't think of that, don't_ – and she looked down.

There was a baby on the ground.

"Oh my god…" The guy had obviously just spotted it as well, judging from the immediate lack of interest. He quickly zipped himself up, crouching down. "Is it dead?"

Victoria hesitantly stroked the baby _oh god it's so cold_ and it shifted a little, a soft squeak coming out of it. "No. Almost, though." _Don't pick it up oh god…._

"Oh Jesus." The man was actually crying. "You poor, poor bastard. Here." He gave Victoria the money she was meant to be earning about now. "You can't let him die, girl. Take care of him."

Victoria looked at him wide-eyed. "I can't. I can't."

The man sighed. Gesturing at the naked baby angrily, he shoved the money into her hands. "Somebody left him to die. Don't give them the satisfaction. Please, madam, as a favour."

Victoria looked down at the baby, undecided. He was so weak he couldn't cry, and it would only take maybe half an hour of exposure more. But….he was….so little….so tiny. Must be a newborn. He tried to squirm as rain fell on his face, and instinctively Victoria wiped it off, then reached out and picked him up.

"Attagirl." The man smiled, helping her up. He pulled off his jacket and helped her wrap the infant up in it, then walked with her to a taxi stand.

As Victoria sat in the warm, smoky comfort of the taxi, she looked down at the tiny bundle in her arms. The baby was nuzzling her, probably able to smell the milk she'd been unable to give to her… _don't think of him._

-

Victoria didn't let go of the baby when she got back to the house where her and several other girls lived. Even when they cooed over him or gave her funny looks. She quickly wrapped the small boy in warm towels and dried him, noticing his skin was…soft. Almost as if he was covered in a very fine layer of velvet.

And, as Victoria noticed when she breastfed him, he seemed to have a full set of very sharp fangs. Which he didn't sink into her, thank God.

She looked down at the baby and smiled as he suckled, thumb stroking the tuft of blond hair on his head. "How could anyone leave somethin' as cute as y' to die, boy?" She murmured.

She wouldn't keep him, she decided the next day as she tucked him into a small basket next to her bed in her tiny room. He opened his eyes, fixing bright blue onto her own as a tiny hand curled around a finger and he mewed slightly. Victoria smiled, rubbing his cheek and cooing as he nuzzled into her finger and yawned. Take him down to the hospital tomorrow.

A week later, and Victoria smiled at the boy as he opened bright blue eyes and squeaked as she tickled under his chin, kicking slightly. He was so adorably cute, if slightly strange – his skin really was covered in a fine coating of fuzz, and his hair felt more like fur. Coupled with the fact he had fangs and tiny, tiny claws….and his pupils were ever-so-slightly slitted, the baby was strange.

"I s'pose I better give you a name, eh, boy?" Victoria murmured to him quietly. The boy was putting on weight fast, and showed very little outward sign of being close to death. The baby blinked up at her, going a little cross-eyed, and Victoria giggled. She couldn't give him up now. "Well… I'd give you my old one, but you're a boy. Ruth wouldn't suit ya, eh?" She winced as he nibbled her knuckle, teeth scraping the skin. "Well…I'm no good at names. Tell you what, boy, we'll call y' Victor. Victor Creed. Like tha'?"

The baby squeaked and then yawned, still nibbling at her knuckle. Victoria smiled, stroking his hair again. "Victor Creed… my son."


	2. Chapter 2

The beast hunted.

Sleek, lithe and silent as the death it delivered, it slipped through the shadows, eyes fixed upon its prey. There was no escape for it now, the beast knew that it was trapped, cornered, could almost _smell_ its fear. Even if the prey didn't know… soon, all too soon it would feel the beast's power utterly destroy its pathetic life.

Of course, cornered prey often proved dangerous. The beast knew this, and still slunk closer. Closer. So close….the smell was intoxicati-

The light flicked on. "Vic? Victor?"

Victor Creed, all of four years old and deadly as a wooden spoon froze in the act of opening the lid of the biscuit tin. He blinked in the sudden light, then pouted.

"Maaaaaaamaaaaaa!!" He wailed. "You wecked it!!" He sat on the counter and folded his arms crossly. "Now can't hunt deh bithcky!!"

Mama Victoria yawned and scratched her cheek. "It's four inna m'rnin', Victor."

"Bithkit."

"Not now, Vic." Victoria murmured, going to the fridge and pulling out some milk, taking a drink and putting it back. "Bed."

"Dun wanna!"

"I don' care if'n ya don' or not. Bed, boy."

Victor screwed up his face and stuck his tongue out at her. "No!! Not tired 'ny way. Big boyth dun need thleep!!"

Mama couldn't help but smile at the lisping. Vic was getting new fangs – larger fangs – through and hadn't quite worked out how to fit his tongue around them yet. It was cute. "Oh? Really? Well y' ain' too big for Mama t' do _this_-" she grabbed one of his pointy ears and tugged him off the counter, "-are yeh?"

"Leggo!!" Victor whined, mewling slightly as Victoria led him back to their room by the ear. He cast one longing glance back at the biscuit tin. The beast would have its prey one day.

-

Victor was curled up when they found him. Shaking, pressed up against the wall and cold, oh so cold to the touch. Victoria bit back tears, remembering the baby in the rain, as she gently wiped the terrified tears off the boy's face. She was handed a blanket.

"Vic?" She said softly, wrapping it around her son despite the now ever-present flinch. "Can y' hear me, Vic?"

The blue, blue eyes flicked up to hers, and Victoria couldn't stop the tears as she met the fear. Old fear layered with new.

"It's okay, baby." She murmured. "What happened?" There were sounds of protest as the-the-the _monster_ who'd hurt her boy was 'escorted' out. She already knew – or guessed – but she had to know. "C'mon, Vic." She said soothingly as the boy began to cry. She held her arms open, and Victor crawled into her lap, clinging to her and sobbing.

"I-i-it h-ha-happened again, Mama…."

Victoria looked up, meeting the eyes of another girl as Victor sobbed hard into her chest, claws digging in almost painfully. "He's seven, Teresa. _Seven_."

"I know, Viccy." The other woman shrugged. "Unless Mike does something…."

Victoria looked back down at her boy. "Mike won't have to. Five times, Teresa. He's pulling somethin'. On my boy." _Once, maybe twice is an accident. But givin' the wankers keys? Lettin' 'em lock th' fuckin' door?_ "Hush now, Vic. It's okay. Mama won' let them get ya again."

-

Vic clawed his way further up the curtain, giggling almost hysterically as Mama flailed at him. He could hear the bath running and could smell the bathfoam. Ain't noooo way he was going into _that._

"Victor Creed you come down right this minute!!"

Vic cackled, swinging across the curtains and scrambling up to the curtain rail. He'd done this so often that there were deep scratches and gouges in the plaster from his claws. He was nine now, though, and the rail creaked under his weight. "C'me an' get me!!"

Suddenly Mama's hand grew a broom handle, and Vic squeaked madly as she prodded him with it. He gripped the curtain and pulled himself a little higher….until the creaking suddenly became a crack coupled with a rip as the curtain came right away from the wall.

"Vic!! Victor!! Oh my god…"

Vic sneezed, pushing the curtain back and blinking at Mama through the plaster dust. He grinned. "Wow!!" He giggled, then sneezed again. "C'n I do tha' again?"

"No!!" Mama, obviously pleased and relieved that her boy hadn't killed himself, once again found the handy pointed ear. "Y're where I can reach ya now. Bath!!"

"Maaaaamaaaaaa!!!"


	3. Chapter 3

Vic leant against the wall, legs crossed as he smoked a cigarette. It was hot, Matt had disappeared somewhere with his current girl and the eleven year old was bored.

There was nothing - and no one - to do.

_So. Bored._

Vic flicked the spent butt into the gutter, looking up as he reached for the beer sat on the wall next to him. He scowled as a police van rolled down the road, stopping a little too handily opposite him.

"Oh no. Not y'." Vic groaned and closed his eyes as he saw the coppers that got out of the van, obviously about to start their beats.

"Afternoon, Vic." P.C. William Peters positively beamed at him as he twirled his hat in his hands, shooting his beat partner an amused look.

Of all the coppers to catch him drinking. "Af'ernoon, copper." He said sullenly, dropping the bottle behind the wall and hoping Peters didn't notice. "Ain' done anythin'."

Peters put on a look of innocence that Vic was sure was fake. "Didn't say you had, Victor. Unless you wanna confess t'...say.....why a certain house was mostly empty when the owners arrived home?"

Vic gave him a blank look. "Don' know, sir." He looked at his feet. He did, and he didn't like the boy who'd done it. Seeing as he'd marked the place for himself the week before. Bastard. "But y' migh' wanna talk t' Mike Elliot 'bout tha'."

It showed how often Vic 'let things slip' like that by the fact Peters didn't even blink. "Righ'. Thanks. Now, do I hafta call you in over the movement of certain stolen items from said house?"

All he got at that was an innocent look that a newborn kitten would be proud of, and therefore fake as hell. "No sir, on accounta th' fact I was at m' dear ol' Mama's alla las' nigh'." He wished Peters would go on his beat already. He had to do a run in fifteen minutes.

"Really." Peters raised an eyebrow. "So why have I got a statement saying you were seen at a certain fence with equipment that was identified as belonging in that house?"

Shit. The eleven year old kept his face impassive. That meant they probably had the fence. "Couldn'ta bin me, Peters." Oh well, meant he wouldn't have to do a run today. "An' anyway, even if it was, I never know what th' shit I hafta move is or where it comes from."

_Fuck. Why t' dump y'sel' in it, Creed._ He could tell from the way Peters' eyes lit up that he'd said the wrong thing. He tried to keep calm as his mind worked hard, trying to think of a way to stop himself being arrested.

Peters pulled his hat on and went for the cuffs and it came to him. In one smooth movement, Vic launched himself at Peters, claws out. He thanked his weirdness - for once - as he managed to know Peters' hat off, twist, catch it and run like hell before his partner had even time to open his mouth.

"Outta uniform!" Vic yelled back as he pelted it up the road. "Can' arrest me outta uniform!!" He cackled madly as he skidded around a corner to the sounds of Peters' swearing.

Nobody could swear like a copper.

Vic ducked and dived through the neighborhood he knew like the back of his hand. After about ten minutes, he slowed a little. There were no sounds of pursuit so he must have lost Peters. Great! He hadn't been arrested and now he had a copper's hat as a souvenier!!

Vic grinned, putting the flat top black hat on and slowing to a jog. Oh yeeeeeah. He was _goo-_

He turned a corner and his foot caught on something. He got a confused impression of a cop's uniform as he tripped, the hat flying.

As soon as he hit the floor, Peters was on top of him, forcing his arms round and clipping the cuffs around Vic's wrists. _Then_ he picked up his hat, dusted it off and put it back on after frowning at the two holes Vic's claws had caused.

"Right, mate." He hauled Vic to his feet, grinning nastily as a squad car pulled up beside them. "I'm arrestin' you for theft of Crown property, sunshine."

Vic struggled as he was frog-marched into the car. "H-hey! I only stole y' hat yer bastard!!" He went white as he looked up into Peters' face and saw that he was being serious.

"Exactly, Creed." Peters chuckled as he put his hand on Vic's head, pushing him into the car. "The police are the Queen's, an' so are the uniforms." He got in beside Vic, nodding to the driver who grinned back. "Counts as treason, mate. Didja know you can still be hung for that?"

Vic said nothing. He was lying. Had t' be. They weren't _really_ arresting him, yeah? This was a joke, righ'? Yeah.

But when he looked up at Peters' face, there was no sign that this was a joke. The man was grim, and as the car pulled away Vic had the first inkling that he was in serious trouble here.

"Hey....Peters?" He shifted. "Y' do know it was a joke, righ'? Jus' a little bitta fun, yeah?" He laughed nervously. "Only....c'n y' let me ou' now?"

"Let's hope the court believes that, Creed." Peters looked at him solembly. "Sorry, y' know the rules. Once I arrest y', you go to the station."

Vic swallowed. "This ain' funny, William. Mama would kill me."

Peters shook his head. "It's PC Peters to you, boy. Or sir. Now be quiet. I don' talk t' traitors."

Vic sank into broody, worried silence. Neither copper was talking to him. Bastards. He was only eleven! All he'd done was knock Peters' hat off. They couldn't hang him for this? It was 'cause he looked funny, weren't it?

They turned into another road, and Vic watched the houses for a second before frowning.

"Hey, copper." He turned to Peters. "Ain' the station the other way?"

"Didn't tell ya what sort of station we were taking you to, did I?" Peters was grinning. He was _grinning_ the _wanker_! "And you're right, by the way. Ms Creed _is_ gonna kill ya."

The car slowed to a stop as the door to one of the houses opened, revealing Mama Victoria.

"You _bastard_!" Vic yelled when Peters let him out. "Y' total fuckin' _wanker_!! I _knew_ it!! I knew y' were lyin'! Treason! Fuck y'!!"

Peters was grinning when he took Vic's cuffs off and handed him over to Mama. "All yours, Madame."

Mama smiled warmly, before taking Vic by her favoured handle - his pointed ear ("Owww!! Mama! Leggo! He tol' me I was gonna hang!! Maaaamaaa!! OW!!") and looking up at Peters. "What did he do this time, Will?"

"Stole my hat, madame." Peters said with a straight face. "So I arrested him and informed him that he had commited treason on the grounds that the hat does, in fact, belong to Her Majesty, and that reminded me that you can still be hung for treason. It appears you son jumped to the conclusion that that meant we were going to hang _him_, ma'am."

Mama Victoria laughed out loud at that ("Mama it ain' FUNNY!! He's a BASTAR-OOOOW!!") and shook her head. "Boys, eh?" She looked down at Vic. "I'll get this little sod inside then an' let ya get back t' yer job, officer."

"Thank you, ma'am." Peters touched his hat respectfully, then grinned at Vic. "Y' know, there is an easier way t' get a policeman's hat."

Vic looked up at him sullenly. "Wassat?"

"Join Her Majesty's Police Force, of course. Good day."

"You WANKER-OW!!"


End file.
